Tide

by Lacy Sheridan

  I pushed myself up on shaking arms, fighting off the dizziness that struck me. I’d been left in a tiny area, big enough for two or three people to sit comfortably in. The floor was dirt, packed hard and flat by hundreds of feet, and bare of anything at all. The room was circular, and not quite a room at all—the walls were thin, letting pale, weak sunlight through. The edges where they met the ground rippled in a breeze. A tent of sorts.

  I brushed dirt from my skinned palms and got to my feet as quick as I could manage with my stiff and battered legs. The only break in the dusty-pale fabric of the walls was a slit opening, and I started for it, but it was pushed open before I made a full step. I nearly fell to the ground again, heart leaping.

  A woman shouldered her way through. Like the hunters, her skin was a deep, inky blue shade, her dark hair hanging in ropes past her hips and decorated with beads and feathers. Though a simple skirt was tied around her waist she wore nothing to cover her top half, and I bounced between averting my gaze and watching her for any sign of danger. She carried a wooden tray, no weapons that I could see, but I knew that didn’t mean anything. Her charcoal-dark eyes passed up and down me, taking in my tangled hair and torn dress, scuffed and worn boots, dried blood and bruises. Making a decision. “Sit,” she ordered. I didn’t hesitate to obey.

  Her necklaces and bracelets clinked together as she sat across from me, placing the tray between us. A cup of water and chunk of bread sat on it, and the dryness in my throat and emptiness of my stomach hit me with a vengeance. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snatching them up.

  “Who are you?” I asked instead. She looked at me, but there was nothing in her eyes. No reassurance, no anger, not even disgust or hatred at looking on a human. “Where are we?” I tried. “Where’s my friend?”

  “The selkie?”

  I let out a stuttering breath. “Yes. Yes, the selkie.”

  “He will be cared for by the men. Eat.”

  My stomach growled, and I stared down at the bread. But I didn’t take it yet. “Where are we?”

  “Home.”

  “Where is home? Who are you?”

  “Eat.”

  “I don’t want to eat, I want you to answer me.”

  “Where does not matter. It is home. My home, and your home.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t my home. I’m not staying here. I have things I need to do.” She wouldn’t care. I knew she wouldn’t, but it didn’t stop me from saying it. Again, she watched me until I continued. “Please. I need to go. Just tell me where my friend is and we’ll leave. We won’t bother you. We don’t want anything from you, this was all a misunderstanding.”

  “We have the right to decide what is done with our catches. You will eat and gather your strength, and you will work. Or you will join the stables.”

  “The stables?” Nothing. “I’m not working for you! Where is he?”

  “He will be cared for by the men. You will make your choice.”

  “I won’t work for you. And what does that mean?” The men had not looked like they were willing to care for Aven.

  “Then you will enjoy your time in the stables.” She got to her feet, leaving the tray where it was, and turned to go.

  “Tell me where he is! What did you do to him?”

  “Don’t worry, girl. We won’t waste an inch of his skin or a drop of his blood. It’s far too precious.”

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbing her arm before she could vanish again. “If your people touch him—” I didn’t get to finish my threat, whatever it might have been, before she knocked me to the ground with one motion. The tray tumbled to the side, water splashing over my feet and into the dirt. My head spun all over again. She pushed open the flap of the tent, calling out something in a harsh, hissing language, and within seconds I could see shadows crossing the ground toward us.

  She didn’t wait for them to enter; she grabbed my arm, fingernails cutting into my skin, and hauled me to my feet. I kicked, yanked against her hold, but she held firm. “What are the stables?” I demanded. Silence.

  It was two men who met us when she pulled me out of the tent, the sun blinding. Different men than had been hunting, but the same in their manner. They took me from her without a word. I tried once to pull away before I gave up: they were too much stronger than me, especially as half-dizzy and weak as I was. It would be no use to fight against them.

  I blinked so my eyes adjusted to the daylight, and I could see tents scattered around us, a few as small as the one I’d woken in and others larger. People milled past us, each glancing to me as they did. Some looked curious, others amused or excited. None spoke. The few with children pulled them closer, as if shielding them from me.

  They paraded me past the village of tents to an area cleared of stone, a large flat circle of packed dirt. A fire roared in the center of it, but there were no structures to indicate anybody lived here. There were only pens and cages. On the far side from us, a low fence kept a small group of something like blue and green horses away from the fire, and closer to us a semicircle of cages waited. The smell of cooked meat drifted through the air and made my stomach rumble.

  The first cage we passed, a structure of heavy wood and rope, held several animals like little birds. They were fat with good care, pecking at scattered grain and seed on the ground. At first, I wondered why they kept to the ground instead of trying to escape through the gaps in their cage, but as we got closer I caught sight of one’s wings, sliced through and scarred over. They’d been made flightless.

  The next held an animal I recognized as the same kind I’d watched be killed by the other hunters. Stag-like, but young: it stood far shorter, its horns little more than buds atop its head and its hooves too large for its body. It stared out at us, watching us pass with a quiet, tentative curiosity.

  The third held a dark-furred form sleeping in a huddle in the back. It, too, looked well cared-for but broken of all life. As if it could only pass its time napping and waiting.

  The fourth cage was empty.

  I struggled against the men’s hold as we stopped before it, kicking and clawing. My voice rose to a shout that sent birds soaring from the few ragged trees nearby. They didn’t care; they shoved me forward unceremoniously, knocking me to the ground yet again. I kicked against the opening of the cage. I wasn’t going to be locked in there like an animal.

  One struck a heavy hand across the back of my head, and my entire body vibrated with the force. A sound like a yelp came from me, and I paused, gritting my teeth as stars danced in my vision. Another push and I rolled across the ground.

  “No! No—”

  The door slammed closed a second before I grabbed it. I didn’t let myself think; I kicked at the door. Again. Again. Every kick sent with all the force I could muster, but each weaker than the last. The cage shook around me but didn’t so much as creak.

  It was only wood. I had to be able to break it. I had to.

  Another kick, but my strike didn’t even strain the ropes holding it in place. I heard the men’s laughter as they disappeared out of sight.

  “Calm, Hania,” I murmured, letting my head fall onto the ground. I stared up at the woven wood above me, at the sunset-painted sky visible through the cracks. My pulse raced like a drum in every inch of me, my mind spinning. I closed my eyes against it, controlling every breath. In and out. Calm. Think.

  Why was I here? Why the stables? Was my ‘choice’ simply a matter of willingly working or being forced into it? But these animals weren’t for work. Not those little flightless birds or that young stag, too spindly-legged to even pull a cart.

  The smell of meat reached me again, and panic gripped me tight, like claws.

  Those were animals for food. Humans weren’t tidespeople; we were no more than animals to them.

  I stopped kicking. Another deep breath. Panic would get me nowhere, even if it clung to every breath I took and urged it to come faster and shorter.

  Get out. Find Aven. Get
far from here. Find Moray. That was what I needed to do. Four steps, that was all.

  Four very, very difficult steps.

  First things first. I sat up, straining to see as much of the stables as I could. Nobody was in sight but the other caged animals, most ignoring me. I was another of them, as long as those people came for me first, there was no reason for them to care.

  No guards watching me. Perfect.

  Now to find a way out. Breaking apart the cage must be the easiest way, but how? My knife was long gone, and both the wood and rope were thick. I knew from a glance those knots would be impossible to loosen with my hands.

  Movement flashed in the corner of my eye, and I jumped, head whipping toward it. Another of the caged animals shifting. I looked at my work, wracking my brain for anything I could turn into a tool. All I had were my dress and my boots.

  Something gleamed in the sun. I paused, fighting off the hope that pounced on me. It couldn’t be.

  “Moray?” I whispered. Hope against hope. Why would Moray come for me and not Aven?

  “You’ve gotten yourself into some trouble, haven’t you, little one?” I couldn’t tell where its voice came from; it zipped around, dazzling flashes of sunlight I couldn’t follow. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care that it was the most irritating person I could ever hope to rescue me. It was help.

  I almost sobbed with relief. “Don’t make jokes, just get me out. Please. I think they’re planning to eat me.”

  “Of course they are. The vodianoi are known for their taste for humans. They and sirens both. Nasty things. You’re lucky this is a little border village, or you’d already be strung up over the fire.”

  I tried not to let a tremor pass through me. “I don’t care what their tastes are. Help me.”

  It calmed, floating at eye-level with its arms crossed. “Maybe if you make it worth my while.”

  “Moray!”

  “Oh, alright. Only because Aven would be upset if you were killed.” It tugged at a knot, and every muscle in me felt like it would collapse.

  “Moray, I’d kiss you if I could.”

  There was disdain in its tone when it muttered, “Please don’t,” focused on the bindings securing the cage door. But I didn’t care, I was near laughing.

  The seconds dragged on like hours, and I tapped my palms against the wood, heart racing in time. Moray’s slender, nimble fingers appeared to do nothing. “Hurry, before they come back.”

  Moray flung me a scathing look. “I thought I might work slower.”

  “Can you open it or not?”

  “Would you like to try loosening a well-tied knot the size of your head in a matter of seconds?” I yanked at the door as if that would help. The rope didn’t budge. “You’re not helping!” Moray hissed.

  A growl stopped us both, and I looked over. In the cage next to mine, the once-sleeping beast had woken and was getting to its feet. It was massive, its head brushing the top of the cage with its pointed ears flattened. The deep growl rose to a predatory snarl that rumbled between two rows of sharpened teeth in a thick muzzle. Its tail lashed against the walls. Yellow eyes fixed not on me but on Moray—on the sparkle of the sun on its skin.

  And Moray had halted, staring at it. “It’s in a cage,” I reminded it, tapping the wood to get the sprite’s attention. “Ignore it and work. We need to find Aven. They said something about skinning him—”

  “Skinning him?”

  “I don’t know if they meant regular skinning him or taking his sealskin—”

  “Neither is good.” It took a deep breath, shaking its head. “I need tools.” It hurried away before I got another word out.

  “Moray. Moray! Tell me you’re coming back!” For all I knew, it would leave me in favor of helping Aven. And true, maybe Aven would be better at freeing me than Moray was, but if it took too long…

  I didn’t want to sit here waiting to see when the vodianoi decided to enjoy their new delicacy.

  The animal was snarling again, the sound broken by thundering barks as it swatted and swiped at the wood, lunging in the direction Moray had gone. It was going to attract the men. “Be quiet,” I said, hitting the wood of my cage in the hopes it would pay attention to me instead. It ignored me.

  I sighed and sat down, back against the opposite wall. The cage was hardly wide enough to stretch my legs across. Cramped for a human, much less some of the animals they’d confined.

  What kind of tools could Moray hope to find and get back here unnoticed? And how long would it take?

  How long did I have? How long did Aven have?

  I could do nothing but watch the sun crawl higher in the sky, punctuating every minute that passed. Every minute that might be one too many. And no sign of Moray returning. I kicked halfheartedly at the cage walls to no avail. They were too solid and I was too weak. Defeated already.

  I heard footsteps and bolted up, hitting my head against the top of the cage in my hurry and then huddling down. They were steady, determined, but too heavy to be Aven’s. He walked lighter than that, quieter.

  Another vodianoi man, who didn’t so much as glance at me as he strode up to the fire in the center of the cages and tossed something in with a sneer. It clinked as it struck wood and stone and rolled, and I squinted to make it out.

  A jar. A sealed jar, no larger than the ones we used at home to preserve fruits.

  And, over the roar and rush of the fire, a thin pounding and shouting.

  “Moray?” I called. The sound grew, the words indistinct, but there. Real. I wasn’t imagining it.

  I groaned aloud, falling onto my heels. It’d been caught. Of course, it had been caught, and now it was stuck in there where it would be boiled alive. There was nobody left to help us. Any of us.

  I closed my eyes against the thought, shaking it out of my head. I’d told Aven I wouldn’t break, and I’d meant it. I said I wouldn’t stop until I got my brother back. I’d promised it to Edrick, to Papa, to Inka. I wouldn’t sit here and let my friend be tortured and killed. I wouldn’t sit and let it happen to myself.

  Only wood and rope were stopping me. Only wood and rope. Not people. Not weapons. Things. Objects I could break and bend to what I needed.

  I turned a full circle, studying each inch of the walls. They were made with thick, heavy branches bound together with knots and loops as thick as my wrists. Sturdy so the animals couldn’t break out. If they couldn’t, I couldn’t, not with my bare hands.

  I turned my attention to where the walls met packed dirt. The cages weren’t set on the ground—that would be too easy. They continued down into it, the vertical branches sharpened into stakes and firmly planted. I took a corner and dug my fingers into the dirt, wincing as my nails bent with the pressure. But the hard dirt cracked and caved and I scooped a handful loose. Then another. Another.

  In seconds, I was digging like an animal, ignoring the stones that cut into my hands and the dirt that scraped its way into my wounds. I flung handfuls of dirt away and pressed down on one of the branches until it wobbled. Loose.

  Onto the next branch. From the fire, the shouting rose to pained, panicked shrieking that made me squeeze my eyes shut. “A little longer, Moray,” I called. “Hold on a little longer.” Could sprites die? Water couldn’t. But if not the water, then maybe the mind that made the sprite. And however annoying Moray could be, however infuriating and sarcastic and mean, it didn’t deserve to die. Not like this.

  I knelt again and dug. And dug. My arms got caked in dirt to the elbows, and my fingertips were stinging and bleeding, but the wall trembled. I went to the opposite wall and braced my back on it, took a deep breath. And kicked.

  The wall shook and tilted.

  Another kick, driving every ounce of desperation in me into the loose wall. It swayed a little more. Another. One of the thinner branches creaked and bent. Another.

  The space between the ground and the lowest horizontal branch widened. Not much, but enough. I hoped. I scrambled to it, crawling on my belly li
ke a worm, and wriggled beneath it.

  My head fit through. My shoulders. I squeezed my arms ahead of me, sucked in my stomach, and pulled myself forward by my bleeding fingertips. I dug the toes of my boots into the ground and pushed. If they wanted to call me animal, I would escape like an animal. I would scrabble in the dirt. Whatever I needed to do.

  The rough bark scraped my back, and I bit down on my lip. A little further.

  Warm blood rolled down my back. I ignored it. One more push.

  I braced one foot against a loose stake and pushed off it. The wall shook and tilted again, and the pressure pushing me was gone.

  I didn’t let myself lay there and savor the moment, even if I wanted to rest and catch my breath. There was no time. My veins sang with adrenaline, and I bolted to my feet and to the fire.

  Moray’s jar wasn’t far into the flames, but it was too distant to my hand in and grab it. The heat rolled over me standing this close, stifling. I spun half a circle, spotting a long stick discarded near the cages and snatching it up. I didn’t think about the fact I was sticking wood straight into a fire and holding one end of it: I just did it, reaching over the jar to push it toward me. It caught on the stones, and my heart stopped. Another push. It inched closer. I gritted my teeth and angled the stick, shoving the end beneath the jar and rolling it to me in one hard motion.

  Pan seared through my palm, and I dropped the stick with a gasp, watching flames lick up to the end I had been holding. But the jar was rolling out of harm’s way. Steam coiled up into the air, hissing. I couldn’t touch it without burning my hands again. I lifted a rock instead. Please don’t be too solid, I begged of Moray before I threw it on the jar.

  The clay shattered. Jagged pieces spun across the ground. Where thin tendrils of steam had floated there was a cloud, and I stepped back, waving it away. “Moray?”

  Silence.

  “Moray?” My heart quickened. Not too late, please. Not too late.

  The sun caught on a flicker of movement crawling from the pile of broken pieces, coughing. Steam rolled off its skin like a freshly-cooked piece of meat. For the first time, I saw Moray on the ground, and the sight cracked through me. I may not have liked the sprite, but its place wasn’t in the dirt.